Human Sacrifice

by Cindy L Hull

“He’s still here?” Madge said. “Brad won’t be happy. I have to use the little girls’ room, so I’ll be the referee.”

  As Claire watched her friend trudge up the stairs, she felt a hand on her elbow. She turned to find Eduardo Ramirez standing behind her.

  “Good evening, Doctor Aguila.”

  It seemed odd that she had not yet spoken to him, but so much had happened in the past few days, the ordinary activity of meet-and-greet had fallen to the wayside.

  Claire smiled at her host. “The reception is lovely, Eduardo. Given the tragic circumstances, we all need a reprieve, to be sure.” She thought briefly of mentioning her intoxicated friend asleep on sixteenth-century furniture but decided against it.

  Eduardo bowed and focused his dark eyes on her. “I am so sorry to hear about Mr. Sturgess.” He motioned to the entrance of the Casa Montejo. “I desperately need a cigarette. Will you join me for some air?”

  He took her elbow and led her outside, directing her to sit with him on a wrought-iron bench tucked up against the stone wall of the mansion. He drew a cigarette from a small container and offered her one. Claire declined, but stared at the gold cigarette case. She had no idea that people still used them. He lit his cigarette with a gold lighter, engraved with his initials, and slipped both items into his jacket pocket. In the distance, across the road and in the plaza, she saw George standing with the Professors Perez and Gonzalez, cigarette smoke encircling their heads.

  Claire said, “I haven’t had the chance to thank you for your generosity.”

  “It’s the least I can do for my friend and his friends.” He paused and smiled. “I understand we are similar…you and I…both bicultural…and a little lost in two cultures.”

  “Perhaps we are ‘found’ in two cultures?” she said.

  “Ah, that’s what I hoped you would say.” He paused, “I want to talk to you about something.” He inhaled deeply. “I would like to offer you a job.”

  Claire suddenly felt uncomfortable. “I have a job.”

  He laughed and small creases appeared along the edges of his eyes. He was very handsome when he smiled. “Yes, but I think you might be interested in this one.” She shifted slightly on the bench to avoid the cigarette smoke that blew toward her in the evening breeze. “I am looking for a bilingual researcher, someone who knows Mexicans and Mexican culture and can maneuver between the United States and Mexico flawlessly. I think you are that person.” He paused to inhale. “You would be the perfect director for the Provenance Project I mentioned in my lecture, overseeing the research on my family’s collections.”

  “I plan to retire in a few years, not start a new career,” Claire said. “Besides, I’m not an archaeologist or curator. I am an ethnographer—I study living people, not artifacts.” She continued to think of objections. “My parents and daughter are in the United States. I have no desire to leave my country.”

  “But, consider, Claire. The northern winters are brutal. You could work in Texas and Mexico City, or even Merida. You could do your field research here in the winter and computer research in Michigan during the warm months. You could write your ticket.”

  “Why me?” she asked. “There are hundreds of students graduating from museum programs every year, dying for a position like this.”

  “Not with your experience and background.” He dropped his cigarette on the ground and crushed it with a shiny black wingtip shoe. “I have been learning about you from others. You are a person with integrity.”

  Claire shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I would be interested in changing careers at this stage of my life.”

  Eduardo tipped his hand in a gesture that reminded her of Roberto Salinas. I could live in Merida, she thought.

  He continued, “Just think, no more teaching introductory anthropology classes to undergraduates who took your class to fulfill core requirements, no more department meetings, living on the academic calendar, and,” he stressed, “you would have a significant increase in salary.”

  “I’m very flattered at your offer, Eduardo. I’ll think about it, but I seriously doubt that I’ll accept it.”

  “That’s all I expect from you now. You have a lot to think about.” He reached into an inside pocket and pulled out a business card, handing it to her. “I would love to work with you.”

  He stood and took her elbow to help her up. She accepted the card and stuffed it into her purse. He extracted another cigarette from his case, ending the interview.

  She thanked him, though she didn’t know why, and watched Eduardo walk along the street away from the central plaza. As she pulled on the massive door leading back into the mansion, a large group of students pushed the door from the other side. She noticed that Cody was part of this mass exodus. Finally, she thought.

  Inside, Claire looked upward toward the balcony, and saw Madge making her way slowly down the stairs. Laura was making long strides toward Claire.

  “I’ve been looking for you!” She whispered to Claire. “You have to come! I’ve called the ambulance.”

  Claire turned to Madge, who had finished her descent and sensed the emergency. She followed Claire and Laura as they hurried toward the parlor. Inside, Jamal stood at the bedchamber door, his hands gripping the ancient knob, his eyes wide.

  Laura took Jamal’s arm and led him to a chair, directing him to sit. She and Claire entered through the mahogany door, their eyes adjusting slowly to the darkened room. Tanya Petersen lay peacefully on her back, like a queen in her bedchamber, eyes closed, blonde hair falling around her head like a halo. She was still covered by the beautifully woven Mexican blanket. But she lay too still. She was too pale.

  Madge entered the room, panting. She looked at Tanya. “Someone covered her up.”

  “I did,” Claire admitted.

  Claire looked closely at Tanya, then to Laura. She didn’t have the strength to look at Madge. Laura touched Tanya’s forehead, her neck. There was a bulge under the blanket, and Laura folded it down, over her chest. Madge looked at Claire, her eyes wide, her face drained of color. Laura covered her again, quickly. Before they could react, an ambulance siren shattered the air.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  The bedchamber door opened, and two paramedics rushed into the small room, followed by the docent, his eyes wide, his mouth opening and closing like a puppet’s. The docent closed the door behind him and gaped at the woman on the bed.

  Claire, Madge, and Laura turned and stared at the medics, unable to speak. The older man moved Claire aside and uncovered Tanya’s body. The medics looked at each other, then at the women who had found her body.

  The dagger was lodged deep into Tanya’s chest, at an odd angle. Her hands cupped the handle. Blood had seeped from the wound and settled into a puddle under her hands. Not much blood, but enough for Claire and Madge to gasp as the medic stood aside for the photographer. Tanya’s purse lay open next to her body.

  The younger man, his assistant, addressed the women in Spanish. “Who called us?” he asked.

  “I did,” Laura responded, studying the wound while Claire and Madge turned their heads.

  “Why didn’t you call the police?” he asked.

  “I didn’t know about this…” Laura said, indicating the replica ceremonial dagger buried in Tanya’s chest.

  The assistant turned to the docent. “Señor, did you know she was here?”

  The small man leaned against the door. “She was just sleeping,” he whimpered.

  The medic pulled a phone from his pocket and called the police. When he rang off, he noticed the second entrance to the bedchamber.

  “What’s this door?”

  “It goes to the sitting room,” the docent stammered. “I brought you through the parlor because there are fewer people there.”

  The assistant pointed toward the sitting room door. “Señor, guard that door
. Don’t let anyone enter.” The docent nodded and left, closing the sitting room door behind him. The assistant then directed the women to leave by the parlor door. “And stay until the police come.”

  They nodded and left the bedchamber, finding that George had joined Jamal in the parlor.

  Jamal, his eyes wide, spoke first. “Is she okay? They wouldn’t let us in.”

  Madge went to Jamal and took his hands in hers. “She’s dead, Jamal.”

  “No! That can’t be!” Jamal moaned. “Dead?”

  Claire collapsed into a chair, her hands clasped in her lap. “We have to stay here until the police come.” She looked to Madge as tears began to flow freely, and she could no longer speak.

  Madge said, “She was stabbed with…” She couldn’t say the word. The guilt was hers to bear.

  “Stabbed?” said Jamal, standing and taking two long strides toward the bedchamber door.

  Laura intercepted Jamal and guided him back to the chair. Jamal sat obediently, in shock.

  “Stabbed?” repeated George. He stared at Claire and Madge, both wiping their eyes with their hands. But before they could respond, Brad stormed into the parlor from the atrium.

  “What happened?” Brad looked at the stunned faces. “Why is the ambulance here?” He stood, eyes wide, then looked toward the closed bedchamber door. “Tanya?”

  Madge spoke. “She’s dead, Brad.”

  “But she was just sick,” he pleaded.

  “She may have been sick, but someone stabbed her,” George said, leaning back in the chair, his hands shaking.

  “Jesus,” Brad leaned heavily against the wall. “Murdered?”

  Claire sighed heavily to regain control and repeated their discovery. “She was stabbed with the sacrificial dagger.” Claire placed her fingers on the soft area between her ribs. She began to sob again.

  George looked at Claire. “The stolen dagger?” Brad and George stared at Claire, who nodded.

  “It can’t be,” Brad said, incredulous. “Madge just told me about it.” He collapsed against the wall. “I don’t believe it.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  The group waited in the parlor, Madge, Claire, and Jamal weeping and the others sitting in stunned silence. Moments later, they heard commotion in the courtyard as an accented voice requested that everyone stay within the walls of the mansion. Exclamations arose as the news of a death floated around the courtyard.

  When Sergeant Juarez entered the parlor, Claire felt a sense of relief. Visions of Juarez and Chan leading Cody away to the police station seemed distant now. She no longer feared them.

  Juarez scanned the room, taking in the grief-stricken and shocked faces surrounding him. He reintroduced himself and gave Claire a slight nod. “Can someone tell me what happened?”

  Brad and George started talking at the same time. George gave Brad his department chair stare, and Brad stood back.

  George pointed to the closed door. “Professor Tanya Petersen is dead. She is in the bedchamber with the medics.”

  Juarez opened the bedchamber door and turned to the group. “Please, stay here.”

  When the door closed, Jamal paced the room, wiping his eyes with the hem of his shirt. “I thought she was drunk…but the dagger? I don’t understand.” He choked, “While I sat here, in this room…she was dying in there.” He pointed to the door. “Six feet away, we let her die.”

  George said, “But she was stabbed, Jamal. We don’t know when that happened.”

  The bedchamber door opened, and Eduardo Ramirez stormed into the parlor, his eyes hard and his jaw tight. The docent followed in his wake, his hands tightly clutched as if in prayer. Eduardo stopped abruptly when he realized he had an audience. The anthropologists turned toward the two men expectantly.

  “Did you talk to the sergeant?” George asked Eduardo.

  “He demanded that we leave,” Eduardo said, his anger palpable.

  Beside him, the docent rubbed his hands together and spoke to Eduardo in Spanish. “I’m sorry, Señor. She seemed so sick. I thought it was okay.” He looked to the anthropologists, as if for sympathy.

  Eduardo looked down at him. “You had orders not to allow anyone to touch the antiques, and you let someone sleep on the bed?”

  He pointed at Laura. “She asked so nicely, and the young lady…she looked so sick.”

  Eduardo raised his hand to dismiss the docent, who moved back a few steps as if expecting to be slapped.

  George stood quickly. “He had no choice,” he said. “We thought you knew she was there.”

  “We all thought she had too much to drink,” Madge said. “Please don’t blame Mr…”

  “Freddie,” said the docent, giving her a grateful smile.

  “Please don’t blame Freddie,” Madge continued.

  Eduardo’s demeanor softened. He glanced briefly at Claire. “I’m sorry about your friend. I knew she was ill, but I didn’t know she was in the bedchamber.” He straightened his tie. “However, I understand that she was stabbed? I don’t understand how that happened.”

  Sergeant Juarez re-entered the parlor, followed by the medics, who silently exited into the courtyard. Juarez stood in front of the fireplace.

  “I am very sorry for the loss of your colleague,” the sergeant said. “I know you have questions, but I’m afraid I can’t answer them. Detective Salinas and his team will be here directly. In the meantime, he has asked that I identify those in the room when Miss Petersen was found.” He turned a page in his small notebook. “Please introduce yourselves.”

  George listed himself and his colleagues. Laura introduced herself and explained how she had called the ambulance because she was worried about Tanya. “Professors Carmichael and Aguila entered the bedchamber with me and we found her,” Laura said.

  “Were you all here when she was found?”

  “All but Professor Kingsford,” George said.

  Juarez addressed Brad. “I am sorry, but I must ask you to leave for now,” Juarez said. “And please, don’t talk to anyone about this.”

  “But…” Brad began.

  “If you don’t mind,” Juarez said, “could you stand outside the door until the detective arrives? That would be very helpful.”

  Brad squared his shoulders, nodded briefly and left the room.

  Juarez turned to Eduardo, who stood quietly against the wall, his jaw tense. “Señor Ramirez, were you in the room when the body was found?”

  “No, but I am the host of the event.”

  Juarez looked at the docent, who hovered in the corner. In Spanish he asked, “What is your name, Señor?”

  “Frederico Flores,” he said. He came out from the corner and began to pace nervously, explaining in rapid-fire Spanish, “I was in the sitting room…keeping people from putting their glasses on the tables…I just let the lady lay on the bed to rest…I put a blanket down first…” He looked toward Eduardo, whose face contorted.

  “Who brought Miss Petersen into the room?” Juarez asked.

  “I did,” said Laura. “It was about seven forty-five, I think.”

  Something bothered Claire, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. She stared at Laura, trying to remember.

  Juarez turned to Freddy. “You can leave now. Can you arrange for the staff to make coffee? Also, no more alcohol, and please, say nothing.” Freddy left, but Eduardo remained, leaning against the wall.

  Juarez said, “Señor Ramirez, you may leave and tend to your guests. Thank you for your time.” Eduardo frowned and narrowed his eyes, but he followed the docent from the room.

  When Ramirez and Freddy had left, Sergeant Juarez studied the five remaining guests. Claire and Madge sat, holding hands, their eyes red and swollen; Laura stood at the fireplace, deep in thought. George leaned forward in the largest chair in the room, staring at the floor, and Jamal pa
ced like a zoo animal, his eyes reddened.

  Juarez addressed the women. “Please describe what you saw when you went into the bedchamber. Be specific.”

  Claire explained how she had covered Tanya with the blanket earlier. “She was still covered when we found her. We folded the blanket down and saw…” Claire choked. She closed her eyes and clenched her fists in her lap.

  Laura continued for her. “The dagger was stuck into her chest like this.” She clenched her fist under her chest to show the angle of the dagger, not perpendicular, but upward, under the ribcage.

  “Anything else?”

  Claire’s head came up suddenly. “The water glass.”

  “Water glass?” Juarez asked.

  Claire turned to Laura. “You took a water glass in with her,” she said. “Is it there?”

  Juarez nodded to Laura who crossed to the bedchamber, entered and returned, shaking her head. “It’s not there.”

  “Did she take any pills with it?” Claire asked.

  “Not when I was with her,” Laura answered.

  “What do we do now?” George asked.

  Juarez checked his watch. “We wait for the detectives. Please remain here. If you need to move around or use the restrooms, you may do so, but please don’t talk to others.”

  Juarez left the room, and the group sat quietly, listening as the sergeant spoke to the guests in the courtyard. Exhausted, the imprisoned KC faculty were left with their grief. Claire sat with her elbows on her knees, her fingers clasping her necklace. Madge and George stared at each other from across the room. Laura wrote in a small notebook she had taken from her purse. Jamal paced back and forth between the bedchamber and the fireplace.

  The silence was broken when Brad entered the room. “I convinced the sergeant that I should be with the faculty,” he said, leaning against the wall. “Will someone tell me what happened? Am I the only person who didn’t know about the dagger until tonight?” He moved away from the wall and sat on a folding chair. His gaze moved from person to person, his eyes piercing.

  George turned to Brad. “Claire told me it was missing. It’s my fault the police didn’t get called.”